


Monstrum

by EssayOfThoughts



Series: MCU Maximoff Oneshots [168]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Discussion of Monstrosity, Gen, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Self-Image
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 13:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16019165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: “An old lesson,” Natasha says. “Training. We could do monstrous things because we had no place in the world - no one who could judge us.”“But people did anyway, after the file dump.”“And we’re monsters anyway,” Natasha says. “And not just because they think so.”





	Monstrum

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [MaximoffFicExchange2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/MaximoffFicExchange2018) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Wanda contemplates monstrosity and what it means to be thought of as a weapon/outsider not just by the public who fear her powers, but also by fellow colleagues such as Tony, while building a relationship with Natasha who also thinks of herself as monstrous thanks to the Red Room. Maybe they find common ground, maybe Natasha mentors Wanda, maybe they simply share each other's bitterness as foreigners with loaded pasts in the Avengers, maybe they help each other navigate their fraught relationships to their bodies to find self-love, maybe their friendship develops into a romantic interest in each other.

> **Monster** , n.
> 
>   1. a large, ugly, and frightening imaginary creature.
>   2. an inhumanly cruel or wicked person.
>   3. a rude or badly behaved person, typically a child.
>   4. a congenitally malformed or mutant animal or plant.
> 

> 
> Etymology: late Middle English: from Old French  _ monstre _ , from Latin  _ monstrum _ ‘portent or monster’, from  _ monere  _ ‘warn’.

* * *

 

> “I am the shape you made me. Filth teaches filth.”
> 
> —  **Sophokles,** from _ Elektra,  _ (tr. Anne Carson) 

 

* * *

 

Natasha had found Steve in Wakanda. When you’ve spent years learning how to live under the radar, following Captain America’s stumbling attempts to do so in the modern world when he’s so used to the ways of hiding in the past was easy. Or, maybe, he was obvious on purpose, so she could find him. She doesn’t think it’s unlikely given… well, Steve.

So she finds him in Wakanda, him and all the team he’d taken from the Raft, and Bucky Barnes frozen and wonders at what’s to come next.

 

* * *

 

Wanda curls small. She can still half-feel the collar and the straitjacket, limiting her movements like the rubble once did. She hates it, that old fears can restrain her so, that old worries can restrict her so. But these things do and she is prepared to let them run their course if only so she can be free leave when Wakanda’s week of grace expires.

“One week,” T’Challa had told them. “I can offer you no more. If they trace you back to me it will cause more trouble that Wakanda is willing to withstand.”

They had all been grateful for even that much.

 

* * *

 

The week passes quickly. Natasha gets documents ready - fake IDs under various names for them all, and a few things she only manages by slipping some  _ very _ under-the-radar notes to Maria. Steve doesn’t really have a plan - roam and help where he can, mostly, and Sam is willing to keep with him. As he says, someone needs to keep an eye on him with Bucky back on ice. 

Natasha’s not sure what she’s going to do. She bleaches her hair til its paler even than Yelena’s had been and stares at a face in the mirror that’s so far distanced from who she had once been that for a moment she cannot recognise herself.

_ We have no place in the world _ , she remembers.

 

* * *

 

She’s starting to dance scarlet out of her fingers when Natasha knocks on the door. She knows its Natasha, even without dipping her sight into the greyscale land of thought where each mind is a bright pop of colour, because Natasha, like Steve, knocks with a standard  _ shave and a haircut _ just far gentler.

She’s always found it a little strange, that Natasha is one who makes such an effort to be gentle, when, arguably, she’s one they have far more reason to fear.

Steve, she knows, would avoid killing any of them, even if he felt it was the best course of action, and while Sam knows that some people can’t be saved, he’s not going to let that keep him from knowing that plenty can. Clint will do anything to protect his family, but Wanda knows that none of the team - even foolish,  _ reckless _ Stark - would dare hurt Laura and the kids, and knows what it is to lose family enough that she can’t blame Clint for it. Scott… Scott she doesn’t think she knows well enough but he’s bumblingly kind in a way that makes her certain he hides no malice. Stark is a fool, easy to sidestep by pushing him into guilt. Vision is too kind, too innocent and far, far too naive, while Rhodey has dealt with Tony for so long that he’s understanding of second chances - and thirds, and fourths.

Natasha however, Wanda thinks as she makes her way to sit beside her, has had her second chance, and thinks that to discard such a thing is folly. Wanda knows full well that if Natasha believes that any of them are hopeless she can and would end them with the same efficiency she removed all her marks before.

“Hey,” Natasha says - still soft, as though softness like fur and gentleness like cat’s paws will hide the dangerous claws beneath. “How’re you doing?”

 

* * *

 

Natasha isn’t a fool. She knows very well why Wanda is as she is - you cannot push someone to lose so much and be lied to so many times and not expect some backlash. Wanda is strong, yes, but it had been her brother who was the resilient one, who bent instead of breaking. Pietro recovered, because if he broke then his sister had nothing. Wanda breaks, because she is too used to taking strain.

Wanda, still looking at her fingers, doesn’t respond. 

“You’ve got your scarlet back,” Natasha says gently. “So that’s something.”

Wanda twists her hands, makes the scarlet spread out more. It’s a strange thing, Wanda’s scarlet, all twisting smoke but as boldly coloured as the silk Natasha had once worn on a job. Natasha’s seen how it responds when Wanda loses control, as well, how it acts even without her thinking, some tearing snarling monster come out of her bones in the same way that Hulk would overtake Bruce’s form when he was overwhelmed. That Wanda has control of her scarlet again is more than  _ something. _ Its essential.

 

* * *

 

“We’re leaving soon,” Wanda says. “Aren’t we?”

Natasha, thankfully, does not seem surprised that Wanda’s finally spoken. Then again, it’s always been rather hard to surprise Nat.

“Yeah,” Nat says. “Steve and Sam are probably going to go full masked vigilante. Scott and Clint are going to try to find ways to get back home to their families.”

“And you?” Wanda looks up at that, looks Natasha in the eye. It’s a moment before she realises that Natasha has changed her hair again. It’s always changing, she’d noticed that soon after joining the team, but she doesn’t think she’s seen a change this drastic in a while. Natasha shrugs.

“No idea,” she says. “I’ll probably stick with Steve. Someone needs to keep the boys in order.”

There’s silence for a while, as Wanda extends her scarlet out then folds in back in, tucking the curls and curlicues back into her veins. 

“What about me?” she asks.

 

* * *

 

Natasha keeps her hands braced lightly against the mattress. “That’s up to you,” she says. “No matter what Stark may think, we’re not going to take your choice from you. That’s happened to every one of us too often for us to condone it now.”

Wanda’s eyes are not red, but they have the same burning certainty. “You cannot leave me here,” she says. “T’Challa won’t allow it. And you have not finish teaching me how to hide unnoticed, so I am not safe anywhere else.”

“None of us are safe anywhere else,” Natasha says. “We can just try.”

_ We have no place in the world _ echoes through her mind once more.

 

* * *

 

Wanda’s not trying to look into minds - she rarely does, these days. She can’t bear to be  _ in _ a mind since she lost Pietro and she isn’t going to go prying without permission.

That doesn’t stop the words in Natasha’s mind from being so loud and clear she can’t help but hear them, and she frowns.

“Wanda?” Natasha says.

“You thought loudly,” Wanda says. 

 

* * *

 

_ We have no place in the world, _ Natasha thinks - and yet she’s fought to make one for herself and from Wanda’s expression she’s definitely got one in the mind-space that Wanda can sense and see.

“An old lesson,” Natasha says. “Training. We could do monstrous things because we had no place in the world - no one who could judge us.”

“But people did anyway, after the file dump.”

“And we’re monsters anyway,” Natasha says. “And not just because they think so.”

 

* * *

 

Wanda shakes her head. “I don’t think that I’m a monster,” she says. “Not human, not anymore. But not a monster. Monsters do not try to make amends. Monsters do not seek forgiveness. Monsters do not try to  _ change.” _

Natasha’s eyes are watchful - Wanda thinks that she is seeing this on two levels. Firstly, as a discussion between them, and likely a discussion she’d rather avoid. Secondly, as a way to get her to make a decision and ensure safety for the team.

“We’re still what we were made,” Natasha says. “You know my past from when you dipped into my head. You know what I was made into.”

“A black widow,” Wanda acknowledges. “An assassin. You chose to name yourself a monster, because you did not like what you had done or become. They did not call you that. You called yourself that, and it's why you went with Clint when he offered you a place with SHIELD.”

Natasha’s face is… not angry. Her expression is the same carefully-curated bland expression it usually is. Its her eyes which are angry.

“And what are you?” she asks. “What were you made to be? First an orphan, then a street rat, then a  _ lab _ rat, and then you were HYDRAs pet.”

“And then we were Ultron’s allies,” Wanda says, barely aware that she’s slipped back into plurals. “We allied with someone we thought would give us vengeful justice and then we learned that he was a monster. But we were not monsters, because we chose to leave him and then to work against him.”

_ “You _ chose,” Natasha says. “Your brother just did what you said.”

For the first time in months Wanda feels it - scarlet in her chest, condensed like the sun and hot as an inferno.

“If,” she says, “You call me or Pietro a monster because of my brother’s choices or lack of them, then remember that the final choice he did make, he made alone, and he is  _ gone.” _

 

* * *

 

There are tears in Wanda’s scarlet eyes, and Natasha thinks she may have crossed a line. 

When she speaks, its raw and soft like well-worn leather. “If you’re not human anymore,” she asks. “But you’re not a monster, then what are you?”

Wanda doesn’t blink. “I’m  _ me. _ Whoever that is. Whatever that is. Not human, not a monster. An orphaned girl with superpowers.”

Natasha doesn’t know how to explain that she’s not even certain of who she is, with how many parts of her are taken from the myriad covers she’s assumed over the years.

“We’re warnings,” Natasha says. “That they send out, or to the world, not to fuck up, or else the monster-women will come from them. It's what the word comes from, you know? The Latin  _ monstrum. _ It means a portent. A warning.”

Wanda shakes her head. “We’re whoever we make ourselves,” she says softly, her eyes dropped back to where her hands are picking at the bed linens. “Not just what others make us or claim we are. We aren’t anything without  _ us _ , and we’d exist even without what everyone else thinks of us.”

Natasha snorts a laugh. “Not when you’re a spy,” she says. “Or an assassin. Sometimes the only way you remember who you are, then, is because others remind you of who you were.”

Wanda is quiet now, the red gone from her eyes as she watches Natasha. “Maybe,” she says. “But that doesn’t make you a monster.”

 

* * *

 

The scarlet is warm in her chest, warm in a way it hasn’t been since Pietro died. Its bright and burning, warm and wonderful and she’s missed it, this violent strength and certainty, this rock which she can build her ribs and spine around, and use to remind herself that she’s alive.

“I’ll leave with you,” she says. “I still need to learn more besides.”

Natasha’s eyes for a moment seem lost but her expression never wavers from its bland usual. “More to learn than you know,” she says. “Any plans?”

Wanda stretches out her hands, clicks all of her fingers then rotates her wrists so they click too. There’s something satisfying in it, and she swears she can feel the scarlet moving faster and more smoothly.

“I need to talk to Vision,” she says. “And talk to him about monsters.”

  
  


* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments!


End file.
